letter from the wife of a sugar cane migrant worker

2-1-98
Dear Husband Jose,
How are you? Everything is good with me. Only can´t feel really good because I feel much longing in your absence. Before I go on, I would like to wish you a happy new year, full of peace, love and money and many fulfillments in your life. Look dear, I received the card and the 480, 00$ Reais. And I received the presents of underwear. Look, Jose, the house is not ruined. I am not working on the roofing. I need someone to see it for me.
How was Christmas? For me Christmas was good because I prayed a lot and I participated in the roaming Jesus ritual. It was joyful. We had lots of fun. But it would have been better if you had been here…look, I am very emotional because we are still very far apart from each other and as each moment of life passes apart from each other, I feel more alone every day. Every day brings sadness…
Maria

round 2

I am a pretty tolerant person, but when it comes to lice… The first time I discovered that I was infested was on a Sunday. No stores were open. My host mother assured me, don’t wory, we will take you to get the exterminating shampoo on Monday morning. I think she saw the horror in my face, and after a few minutes she changed her mind and said, “Actually, let´s see if any of my friends have some in their houses. And don’t worry,” she said, “every child in this city gets lice.” (However, this was the first time for this 25 year old child.)
This morning I found myself going through the delousing ritual again. It has been extremely hot in the last few days. Over 115 degrees F. People say that little creatures procreate at a faster rate in the heat and the smell of my foreign sweat is apparently irresistible. I was more even headed about this second infestation. I calmly canceled my morning plans, went straight to the bathroom, soaked my head in the medicine, and routed out each louse with a fine comb.

mud and letters

I have been traveling by bike to talk to sugar cane migrant workers and their families. I often end up carrying my bike more than my bike carries me...it rained last week.

Most of them are home in the neighborhoods in the outskirts of the city nicknamed, Nova Esperança (New Hope), Barrio dos Escravos (the neighborhood of the slaves), and Pipoca (Popcorn). The migrant workers leave again in April when the new sugar cane crop in São Paulo is ready to cut.

I have been talking to the families about the adjustments they have to make when they are separated from their fathers, brothers, and uncles for 8 months each year. I am curious to see how they maintain relationships with men who leave. Yesterday one family gave me a stack of letters that they saved… A record of 10 years of correspondence between the family who lived on a farm without a telephone and the father who was working in the sugarcane fields. At first, the mother was embarrassed to show me the letters. “I don’t know how to write correctly. I only studied until sixth grade.” Her fourteen year old son said, “But mom, the letters are sufficient for communicating.”
The letters were practical discussions about money and resources, expressions of longing, reports about the wellbeing of the chickens, births, deaths, sicknesses. There were even love letters, saved from when the couple was courting. Small drawings of hearts on the outside of the envelopes and yellow mangos on the inside.

Pankarú and Pataxó

I spent the weekend in the village of people from the Pankarú and Pataxó indigenous tribes and went swimming in the river.



I had good eye-opening moment when I was walking with a group of children and I came across a curious pair of rocks. One rock was painted with strange red and yellow designs. The other was covered with a piece of cloth with floral patterns. There was also a cup with flowers and water, an empty plate, a peal of a passion fruit, and bottle cap. Earlier that day, someone mentioned that carrying and saving a heavy rock was a part of the tribe’s marriage ceremony. I thought that these rocks might be associated with this ritual or some other ritual. So I asked one of the children, “What is the significance of these rocks?” She looked at me like I was crazy. I thought she misunderstood me so I asked again. “Are these objects associated with any of your rituals?” She laughed and said, “Well, actually we were playing make believe house here yesterday. And this is our kitchen.”
Now I am wondering what else am I misinterpreting.